The Quest of Two Worlds
by shashaspeaks
Summary: Follow Percy Jackson as he goes to Great Britain to apparently teach somewhere. Turns out, this somewhere is Hogwarts, and the nosy Golden Trio want to find out who this Prof. Jackson is, along with the rumor that Hagrid has found a brand new, bronze dragon in the Forbidden Forest. Set about a year after each war. Only normal pairings include. Now on hiatus.
1. I Get a Fourth July Present in My Mail

**A/N: Hello, people who don't know me...*gulp* this is my first crossover, and I'm a noob at the whole 'publishing' act...please review...?**

 ***Bursts out laughing and grinning like a madman* Just kidding. Actually, I was telling the truth. I'm a noob. But, please try to review this as much as you can? I'm juggling so many things here I can't keep track - exams, my mortal enemy, my classes, laptop time (Friday, Saturday and Sunday) and different time zones, since I live in Malaysia. I'm only ten, so this thing has absolutely no flames except for the normal pairings such as Percabeth, Jasper, Caleo (haha, I'm making a prequel on that), Frazel and a splash of Reynico, so on, so on..anyways, help my ten-year old life by commenting, reviewing...okay, this A/N is getting huge. On with the HP/PJO crossover.. _DUN DUN DUN!_**

 **CHAPTER 1: PERCY: I Get a Fourth July Present in My Mailbox**

HMM...YOU CAN DO MANY THINGS WHEN YOU'RE A DEMIGOD.

You can get ripped, you can find new worlds and apparently die from whoozits who are your cousins. You could also lose your memory, go on headache-inducing quests and finally go to hell (literally). It just works that way, doesn't it? Anyways, I'm Percy Jackson and that is basically my life. Savior of Olympus, Second of Hecate and yadda yadda yadda. My titles give me a headache. I need Shelby's coffee. If you want to access my story which is told in, like, eleven creepily accurate books (?) written by this stalker at my camp for demigods - the Greek one, I mean. Just then I found myself smack in the heart of another hair-raising adventure in a bunch of...what are they called? You know what...I'll just start from the beginning.

So, all the craziness happened when I got mail one day. Seriously, who sends mail these days? I wouldn't mind if it were, like, mail with Celestial bronze animal legs and hooves, but mail and a stamp? I don't even know where to _get_ a stamp.

I'm not so sure about my feelings on that, unless it was a spider-legged mail automaton, which would totally send my fiancée (read: Annabeth) into shock. Maybe not so much now, but with our re-visions of Tartarus combined with Athena's horrendous least-favorite animal, I don't think Annabeth would give a 'welcome home' present set with bugs or whatever spiders eat to it.

Anyway, long story short: Annabeth sent me to check the dusty mailbox (it was kinda reduced to a place for Shelby, our 6-year old adopted kid to store stuff like her favorite crayons) that was given to us by Athena during our engagement party (uhm...another very long story) and I did, because you simply do not mess with Annabeth when she's in the kitchen. Or maybe in range of anything un-childproofed like the Celestial bronze butter-knives she usually puts in the cupboard.

I stopped binge-watching TV and hastily got up to head to the entrance. When I stepped out of our apartment in New Rome, I breathed the air. It smelled salty that day, like Poseidon (if you don't know who that is, that's the Greek god of the Mediterranean and my dad) just decided to spritz some Sea Febreeze into New Rome's aqueduct. It also smelled like one of those magical insta-clean sand dollars he sent last one he sent me helped me clean the Thames and the Hudson River (side note: never go to those rivers if you want a bath. I spent most of the five days after the Titan War cleaning the dirt out of my places).

Stepping on the matted lawn, I felt at peace. I went to Athena's engagement crayon storage box and pulled down the flag. That peace was ruined when I accidently hurt my finger while I was unlatching the damn thing, but I didn't really pay attention once I opened the mailbox. It was riddled with little dents and a few feathers (along with a melted pink substance – probably Shelby's pink crayon).

Inside, there was a twisted stick and a letter sealed in wax (wax? These people need to get into the 21st century), and a separate package that oozed sparkly firework-effects like a kindergartner's project.

I wrapped a paper scrap that I found in the mailbox around my finger (apparently, someone or something had used the mailbox as a trashcan) and opened the entrance arch, into my apartment. Annabeth proudly did the designs herself with a little help from the Hephaestus/Vulcan kids in New Rome/Camp Half-Blood/Camp Jupiter (two words: more names. That's the only problem when you save the world from sweet Mother Earth).

'Annabeth,' I started cautiously. 'You might wanna see this.' A few hurried footsteps echoed from the cute Roman kitchen, followed by the appearance of my fiancée. Her really curly blond hair was tied in a messy bun with dangling hair untucked around it, making her curly locks look like spiders - I wisely chose not to mention that. It also made her grey eyes look more striking, but I decided not to make them look stormy. Annabeth wore an apron, a pair of denim shorts and a purple tee that said, "CHILD OF ATHENA", followed by a picture of an owl that wore a monocle. Her hand, tanned by all our quests (read: sunny dates) together, held a cookbook in Ancient Greek, and in the other was a Spongebob-style Celestial bronze spatula.

'What is it? Did Shelby splash the TV remote with pink paint again? If she did that on your watch, Seaweed Brain…' She did a snapping motion with both of her hands, like she was going to snap her trailmix recipes in half. Annabeth was protective of Shelby that way. 'No,' I answered immediately – as I said, she held a Celestial bronze spatula (perfect throwing range). 'It's the mailbox, Wise Girl.' Annabeth narrowed her eyes, but followed me out anyways.

After I opened the mailbox, she looked quizzical. I guess anyone would've been if they saw a mini-firework show inside their mailbox. Annabeth frowned. I knew she hated new. So, I started to explain. 'It just popped out of nowhere, don't-blame-me-'

'Shut up,' she snapped as she examined the wax seal on one of the letters. Hecate had given an anti-dyslexic pill to Annabeth so she could read English without consulting Frank, our Roman buddy back at Camp Jupiter (since all he has is the intolerance to icecream).

She broke the seal and took a letter out of it while analyzing everything on it, and quickly explained. My eyes widened as my fiancée said, 'It says that you've got to find some initiates in some Brit academy, and you're supposed to leave tomorrow, on September the 1st. It also says in Greek…'

'—Consult Chiron,' I interrupted. 'Uh...I always thought you would get your job first, right?' I honestly did - it didn't really make any sense.

'I did, you dummy.' Annabeth bopped her recipe book on my head. 'I designed Mount Olympus!' I nodded, which made my black hair shift and bob like a really hairy boat. Annabeth pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the hardcover Greek cookbook – classical demigodishness.

Before I ran to the bathroom, Annabeth caught my sleeve. 'What's in the poppy one?' I picked up the little package that was having a late Fourth of July party all by itself, and opened the self-reseal package.

Inside was a tiny pill, but it was as long as my eighteen-year-old pinky. The pill was an odd shade of pond-scum green that reminded me of a certain blond-haired scarecrow. A letter 'H' was branded in the prime front of the pill, so it was either from Hecate or it was an English Hephaestus trap for whoever. I pocketed the pill, unsure if I should keep it. I even grabbed the stick.

So, after all the mushy stuff (ahem, we're engaged) I quickly went to the bathroom and made a misty rainbow and I-Med Chiron. I felt like I wanted to call Fleecy's direct number, but I settled for tradition (another long story shortened: I don't want the drachma flipping through the rainbow automatically disabling it without refunds like the last time I tried it). 'O Goddess of the Rainbow, accept my offering,' I muttered, and down the rainbow message it went. 'Show me Chiron, Camp Half-Blood.'

The mist changed, and suddenly there was a middle-aged man with kind, surprisingly concentrated eyes and smile lines in front of me. Then I realized that Chiron was in the rec. room (because I could hear a leopard roaring) and also because Chiron was playing ping-pong on something - I couldn't watch behind the rainbow, because my face was there. Chiron was momentarily confused, and then caught a ping-pong ball just before it hit the video-rainbow. He waved his hand, and I managed to see a blond head sighing as he went out of the rec. room.

Chiron seemed to sit down. I knew he wasn't really sitting down, since he was a centaur that had to stay in a wheelchair when he played ping-pong. But he had good, strong legs (four of them) that could magically fit into a really uncomfortable wheelchair-

'Percy,' he started, shaking me out of my ADHD thoughts. 'Why in Tarta—Erebos, would you I-M me in such a time?' He was avoiding Hell's name, but it made sense. 'I'm late for lunch, Percy. You're a college man, engaged no less - keep your priorities straight. You should focus on your studies in New Rome-'

'Alright, alright, I get it.' We both grinned and shared a laugh. 'I wanted to message you because I got a…a letter from Camp, saying that I would have to talk to you.' It all came tumbling out – not that there was much to tumble. The letter contents, the stick, and I even included the pill Annabeth found in the firework-show letter. He just nodded, like hearing people find melted crayons and random sticks in dusty mailboxes happened to his Greek students every August.

'I suspected as much. Now listen carefully, Percy...'

 **A/N: HAHAHAHAHAH Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I have a life. Please review! Peace, Love and Pizza! -Without any wax at all, Shasha!**

 **STATUS: Edited. Plot = same, words = updated, facts = straightened.**


	2. Back at Hogwarts, The Castle of War

CHAP. 2: HARRY: Back at Hogwarts, The Castle of Two Wars

 **A/N: OMG I'm SOOO sorry this came out late. I'm sneaking this story right now, and since I'm sick, no laptop! Bonus chapters. Thanks for the reviews. Now I need to throw up from all this writing, editing...ah! BTW, that is Shelby from Kane C. :)**

Being a seventh year is confusing, Harry concluded as he strolled his already full trolley. Thoughts drifted across his scarred mind, sickening and pouring burning Floo powder into the crevices. They burned and convulted, but he tried to keep them contained in his head - Harry didn't need to disappoint them. Not after they thought Harry was "dead"...he didn't even know who 'them' was.

Right after the deadened Wizarding War, Harry went and repaired most of Hogwarts - it still looked heartsickening, but the repairs weren't complete: not yet, anyway. He just needed to wait it out, strengthen the castle's defenses to prepare for any rogue wizard attack - the Ministry also had taken action of all the surviving Death Eaters and imprisoned them with Azkaban along with the Dementors (freshly reprimanded with jinxed whips!).

The Golden Trio ( _cough_ , just Hermione _, cough_ ) had decided the list of items for the year (and why they should get them). 'You know, most of last year's students are going to reappear for the Seventh,' the bushy-haired Gryffindor enthused as Luna cautiously ordered the compartment's pastries consisting of herself, Hermione, Neville, Ron and finally the Master of Death himself.

'Five Carrow Crows, please,' Luna said as she consulted a new version of The Quibbler. The Carrow Crow had been added to the pastry trolley only just recently, because of the Carrows that attended as DADA teachers last year. They resembled small, earthy lumps of wax that wore frightening Death-Eater hoods with a special, contorted crow face inside if anyone dared hard to lick the beak. Not for the weak-hearted.

After Luna ordered the Liquorice Wands and the like, she closed the compartment door and started making dying attempts of silent small-talk. Apparently, when she found that didn't work, Luna started twisting her hair while awaiting someone who would be brave enough to break the silence.

'I heard that there's going to be a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,' Hermione began weakly. Seeking to join in the talk, Harry scoffed. With the odd aura of awkwardness drifting its way out, he felt the words tumbling out of his mouth.

'Please, Hermione, that job is officially jinxed. First, it was a man who harboured Lord Voldemort in the back of his head, dead. Second was a self-conscious git, mental. Third was a werewolf who's the my father's friend, dead. Fourth was a wacky Auror who had identity issues, both probably dead. Fifth was a toad who made us silent-read Voldemort to the death, still not dead and last year...I wasn't there, mostly.' I pouted, and then let out a pent-up breath.

'Last year was Snape and the Carrows,' reminded Neville. At least he didn't stutter as much anymore, Harry noted. His bravery was increasing, the way Gryffindors should. He was the one who killed Voldemort's pet snake with a sword he pulled out of an old hat, but he was still brave. From the corner of the compartment, Harry spotted Ron snap a Carrow Crow, like he wanted to make war on all cheese-flavoured chickens in the world.

'There's also a vacancy for Muggle Studies,' the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl offered. All the wizards in the compartment exchanged curious looks. Luna fingered her necklace as a sign of nervousness, or rather one of her necklaces – the one with the corks that kept supposed Nargles away.

'Who's the head of Gryffindor? Headmistress McGonagall can't be the head for the seventh year since she's...uhm, the Headmistress and the like.' Neville was twisting a Liquorice Wand, and a distressed look dominated that still not very brave face.

'It may be one of the new teachers,' suggested a new voice. Harry spun his head around (nearly whacking his head on a metal beam) to see a red-haired Ginny Weasley who was just coming into the train compartment they were in. Normally, he'd always notice Ginny, and the way her red hair swept over her shoulders, and the smell of that new strawberry shampoo dominating the stink of the train...

Harry shook his head to clear his vigorous thoughts, and when he stopped he felt like he just set fire to his wild black locks.

She sat down beside Luna on the other side of the train compartment, which added up to six offered Ginny half a Carrow Crow, and all felt at peace. They didn't talk too much - mostly everyone was asleep. However, a noise disturbed that sleep.

'HOGSMEADE STATION!'

The whole train (or the only part Harry could glance at, in the small compartment) started standing up, wearing their robes and tossing their rubbish into a rubbish bin that floated around. A few minutes later, the train came to a halting stop.

'Hogwarts,' I muttered under my breath, 'here I come.'

 **A/N: Okay...so, since I didn't post last week, I'm making it up to you guys – extra short bonus chapter! *Offers you a blue-and-white bag full of blue, caramel popcorn* Have a treat! Get your Youtube Music! SORTING TAMM!**

 **Percy: Wand, Prepare for Liftoff!**

I HAD A NIGHTMARE. Well, that wasn't exactly uncommon. We demigods always have pretty scary nightmares, but this one? It topped off the time Leo fell into the sky, but that's another long story. Man: so many long stories.

Well, here we go dive-bombing into the past.

So, after Chiron explained the basic mojo-jumbo of the Wizarding World (still sounds like a cartoon) I walked out of his office and started packing the stuff I'd need while Shelby kept knocking at my door and started ushering little drawings of men, a sun and a gigantic red snake through the cat flap.

I'd packed about two pairs of jeans and trainers, and a photo album consisting of the photos at Camp Half-Blood and New-Rome. Then I tossed in the regular American snacks, along with a canteen of golden nectar and a Zip-Loc bag full of ambrosia squares. I fingered the stick for a while, then tossed it in too.

Then I zipped up the backpack and went to say goodbye to Shelby, who had for some weird reason had a drawing that showed a big red snake with crayons, pizza cutters and silver knives stuck in the beast. It had 'X's for eyes, which, based on my childish-drawing ADHD expertise, probably meant it was dead. 'Kill! Kill,' she shouted, waving the drawing in the air.

After lots of giggles, threats from Annabeth, and a mouthful of red dead-pizza-cutter-snake drawings, I scooped the pill up from my pocket and bounced it in my palm. Then, I headed out with my little blue suitcase.

As soon as I stepped out of my ex-praetor domain (it sounds like a fort, how I describe it) I remember everything blacking out, and I appeared on a little metal box with whole windows. Some kind of sleepy 'choo choo' rythm went over me, lowering my defenses. I don't like low defenses. Then, feeling a long, hard breath of sleepiness wash over my mind, I fell asleep.

This, of course, meant nightmares, torture, and visions of Tartarus.

 _The air smelled like sulphur and acid, which meant I was probably in Tartarus – no surprise. The floor was red, and felt like cheese sponge covered with that gross bit of whoozit under my feet. Blue, green and purple globs of veins pulsed around – we were in the heart of the Magnanimously Evil Pit. The Doors of Death. I haven't closed them, yet._

 _Annabeth was beside me, but her hands held me in an iron death-grip. 'Wise Girl,' I began, but I could never finish it. I tried to look at her, but all I saw was a cold ghost, with completely white eyes and no loving – or intelligent, for that matter -eyes. 'Remember Fate,' she screamed into my ear._

 _'_ _REMEMBER FATE! TERRIBLE FATE!'_

And I woke up. Not only was it creeping me out, but I got cold sweat running down a chilled, uncomfortable, crushed spine. My pulse was racing, and for a moment I was confused. Then I remembered – I was in this train with a...magical...?

'HOGSMEADE STATION!'

I sat up with a jolt, nearly banging my head on the ceiling of the train compartment. A few moments later, we all got off the train. I looked down, and I saw that I was wearing some sort of black bathrobe, and then I remembered frowning. It wasn't blue. Not many things were blue here.

Anyways, colour choices aside, let's get on with the story. We'd reached Hogwarts.

Now, I wasn't that much of an architecture fan, but when you live in the same house with a crayon-loving kindergartner and an 'I want to build the world!' freak, the things just rub off on you.

Needless to say, the castle was magnificent. Tall towers encircled the main block, and banners pierced the sky like a kingdom's flag. The breeze felt like I was squatting in a big, thick bubble that smelled like one of those Carrie Junior shampoo for kids. Shelby used to use it all the time.

When I got in, it was even more stunning, but I couldn't catch the ceiling, or the floor, or any of the details, for that matter. I dove straight into the Great Hall – most of the students in the school were already there, and when they saw a big, eighteen-year-old kid wearing blue sneakers come into their mess hall, I doubt their reactions were 'I see this everyday - no biggie'.

Oh well. I muttered excuses, curses, jinxes, whatever. I was late. Then again, I'm most always late. Curses.

The thing that hit me most was their eyes. Literally – they hit me hard, looking at me. _Look! New kid! Fictional character with creepy sweat!_

I got to my seat. An old hag stood up and addressed people, with a speech and the whole enchilada – as an ADHD demigod, I didn't appreciate long, twisting speeches. None of us do.

After that, the ol' Professor McGonagall went and held an old, gnarled, pointy hat (seriously – was everything old in this place?), placed it on a pedestal while the thing opened a fold of its mouth and sang.

 _You may think you're out of place_

 _But this is what I say:_

 _Remember, lads, you're not alone_

 _And neither is your way_

 _I'm the sorting hat, wizard people_

 _Don't make me smell a rat_

 _Because, I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And this is what I say:_

 _Choose the path of Gryffindor,_

 _For the brave and loyal_

 _Or maybe the tracks of Ravenclaw,_

 _For the smart and swift and royal_

 _Oh, Hufflepuff may just pick you_

 _To fit in with her kin_

 _Slytherin may or mayn't bother you_

 _And call ambitions and sin_

 _Don't make heed for the past mistakes_

 _For we will stay united and face_

 _The hardships, the sorrows,_

 _Or any one today!_

The hat smiled, heightened his tune, and continued.

 _I may be a hat, a gnarled piece of leather_

 _But learn the way of Hogwarts and_

 _You may just think the better_

 _Here we follow classes and rules_

 _To learn the arts from dusty tomes_

 _But we play hard, fair, loyal, shrewd_

 _In the houses we may see_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And your House?_

 _We shall see!_

The hat folded itself back, and turned into a normal, old hat.

'Man,' I muttered, as I fingered my stick, making little astronaut voices in my head. Then, after making the stick launch, I raised my head and yawned. 'This'll be a long, long semester.'


	3. DADA With A Twist

**A/N: Sorry this took so long – it's a long chapter. So, my schedule is probably aligned around Saturday to Wednesday. I actually try to aim for Sunday, but I had exams. I would've posted sooner but…sorry! Keep calm and read on! You better start early, because my plot is stretching! I get new fanfiction storyboard ideas everyday. Keep 'em comin'...now I've got a storyboard, hopefully. Hopefully.**

 **DADA With a Twist**

As soon as the mystery wizard strode into the Hall, Harry felt like he could actually _smell_ trouble.

He just stood in the entrance, looking like he could use a bath - but Harry thought (and apparently all the witches in the Hall thought so too) the man didn't need it. All the man did was sweep his glossy black hair back, making it even more ruffled up, but his disarrayed fans didn't mind. His eyes shone like the sheen of green ( **A/N: Hey, that rhymes!)** sea that, frighteningly, reminded of the shore of his used house which I dubbed House on Rock.

The mystery wizard slyly smiled, and fingered his wand, giving Harry a peek of his surprisingly muscular arms - but they weren't enough to distract his newfound fans from his handsome face like a male Veela. The man disturbed Harry - it was as if someone bewitched his very picture, removed his old, broken glasses, tanned and firmly crested up Harry's various mawed limbs and enriched every single on his body and outfit. In a backwards tone, the wizard could almost pass as Harry's duplicate - even more so than the potioned-Harrys back in...what, the sixth book? - if you removed all the attractive things about the buff sea-man. He truly looked like a pirate, a very, very noble-looking pirate in wizard robes and a cheeky expression. When Harry made the mistake of looking down, he spotted somewhat that resembled actual _shoes? Blue sneakers?_ Harry almost slapped his own forehead in exasperation like a mother. Who wore sneakers into a several thousand-year-old teaching structure?

But, the most single disturbing part was his...he didn't know how to explain this, but Harry simply went with the word _aura_ – the mystery wizard radiated a kind of blue glow that Harry noticed when he walked past the Gryffindor table. It smelled like wonderful, wonderful House on Rock sea-salt. Its smell resembled the pitiful sea salt Harry and his then living friends put in Potions to annoy the greasy-locked Snape when he was still alive…

Professor McGonagall frowned as Harry cleaned his tears and walked to the stage podium. Apparently, the old witch was going to adress his fermented lateness.

'Professor Jackson,' she began. _Professor? This man is a_ professor? 'You do know that the standard, simplest protocol of the Hogwarts In-'

Most of the witches in the Great Hall coughed, drowning out the sound of Professor McGonagall. It was most likely to spare the new professor from hearing a detention-protocol speech.

Professor Jackson, as Harry found, just smiled sheepishly (like the very sheep he was) and rubbed the back of his neck. The robe-sleeves went down with gravity, so Harry got another jealous peek of his arms - but he saw something bug-black on the arms. He made a mental note to look that up with Hermione later. Professor Jackson climbed up the podium over to an empty seat which was usually occupied by a certain pink toad, and started to play with his own magical stick. He visibly made himself comfortable, and Harry (and most likely the rest of the witches and wizards) felt like the next DADA lesson was going to be quite interesting.

'That was Professor Percy Jackson (Ron: My brother? Nope..?) who is going to be responsible for the teaching of Defense Against The Dark Arts this Year. He will be the head of Gryffindor, and is from America. Treat him well or he might deduct points from your house.'

Apparently, going to sleep tonight was also going to be interesting.

 **(*The line break offers you a glass of blue milk and a Carrow Crow* 'Have fun reading,' says the line break.**

 **YOU: Thanks…*gobble gobble* AAAAAAAAAAAAH!)**

 **;-)**

* * *

 **A/N: DISCLAIMER: I don't own ANY of the characters you recognize, but they probably belong to some fanfiction or other in which I STOLE...their primitive features. Anyways, all the Harry Potter (HP) characters go to Aunty Billionare Rowling's bin, and the other (PJO, Percy Jackson and the Olympians) characters go to, frankly go to Uncle Rick's bin (no pun intended.)**

HARRY

The days breezed by quickly even for Harry.

He'd been waiting for the fateful Tuesday, where DADA was his second doubles period. One hour of mystery professor with the rest of the Seventh Year.

Then Tuesday came. Harry promptly trotted over to sit beside Ron and Hermione, while noticing the dismissed air of the Great Hall. 'Why does it feel so gloomy today,' Ron ventured as he spooned some porridge out of his golden bowl.

'Maybe it's because you didn't do your Muggle Studies homework,' Hermione scoffed. Her bushy hair was tied in two long, fluffy tails so it looked like caramel was pouring down the Gryffindor bands she wore - very, very modestly.

Ron pouted. His father, of all wizards, had taken the role of Muggle Studies professor ('How does he even manage that? He has a job at the Ministry!). Naturally, he tried to change courses late to avoid his embarrassing, over-enthusiastic Muggle-loving father in Muggle Studies, but Hermione insisted, since Ron had so dubiously made her wear pigtails. It was to bond Ron's connection to the Muggle world's "courting" rituals.

'I've done it. Don't blame me, 'Mione,' the redhead replied with a sigh.

After Harry and his friends had finished their food, they went to Hagrid's hut for Tuesday's first period – Care of Magical Creatures. They found that Hagrid was already standing up behind three massive crates, but they seemed like ants next to Hagrid's giant blood.

'G' mornin', 'Arry! Terday we'll b'takin a lil' walk, out, er, to ther F'rbidden Forest, ter..wazza word... _discover teh marks of a dragon,_ ' Hagrid said. Everyone gasped, but one wizard raised his hand. 'Fly away, wher-ever.'

'What are the crates for, Hagrid?' The giant smiled at the student's question - normally he received about thrice the times of questions, whether they were from professors or students. 'They're ye gear, lad. Ye gear,' he repeated, and flicked a lid off of one of the brown crates. In it were several copies of 'Tracking Dragons'. He continued to flick each one open, while the wizards gathered and peered into each one. In the second were bundles of (brass...?) Omnioculars, still riddled with several twisted knobs and confusing buttons. Snares seemed to be crawling out of the third crate.

'Take one 'eech, now. Jus' one,' Hagrid ordered his Seventh Year students. Not much happened after that - Hagrid split them into five groups, and Harry was with Ron, Hermione and Zachariah Smith. Since Hagrid was a giant, he had a giant pair of lungs and vocal chords = big voice. He yelled directions, expectations and praises. He basically told them to set snares in strategic places based on their dragon-tracking books, magically mapping the dragon's heat signature to find it and making sure to collect any "signs" of the dragon. As usual, Zach was a pain in the...(censored. Because I say so.)

After studying giant pawprints and motor-oil smelling doodies in the Forbidden Forest, they immediately ran over to the classroom for DADA that they were using.

They waited soundlessly.

Then, after about ten minutes, Prof. Jackson came.

PERCY

I SWEATED SO BADLY I might have won the Guinness World Record for Teaching Wizards While Sweating Profusely. I doubted it would go up in Manhattan news, but at the rate I was going when I came into the DADA class, I just could've.

A bunch of people my age, who probably could jinx me into a toad right about then were sitting in front of my face, and I was supposed to teach 'em. Yeah right.

Maybe you're thinking that I was early. No. I was late – don't blame my ADHD. Just don't. Annabeth wouldn't have approved - maybe? I wasn't really sure at that point.

Here's the hulabaloo. I was sleeping, no surprise, but I was _sleeping_. In the demigod dictionary, it meant _horrible oodles of the future so that when you wake up you'll mess up your new robe legs._ Thankfully, I hated those robe legs.

Remember the one where Annabeth became a spitting image (or a literal spitting girl) of a primary, scary, horror-movie-worthy May-Castellan-probable ghost?

It continued.

 _The veins in the heart of Tartarus were pulsing. Annabeth was still screaming 'FATE' and a bunch of gibberish, but it somehow felt muted and distant. I took a step to stop her from screaming and alerting Tartarus, when all time seemed to stop and fall into Jell-O. I fell face-first into a puddle of grass and flowers. In the Pit of Evil, flowers and grass don't make sense._

 _I shook myself out of the increasing, funny revelations and managed to look up. A blonde lady with sky-blue eyes was staring at me hard, holding a daffodil in her pale hands. It seemed to be growing in all different directions, in all sorts of ways and colors so dizzying it made my dream-eyes hurt. I don't usually get hurt in my dreams, but when you're in Tartarus, even in dream-form, impossible becomes norm._

 _Her dress was – or maybe used to look – pretty. Emerald figures of plants and the Great Outdoors littered the fabric, but it all looked bleached. Basically, the lady's (or goddess's, probably) dress looked like something your grandma would wear._

 _'_ _Percy Jackson. Nice to see you again.'_

 _Then I realized who I was talking to. 'Persephone, goddess of the Underworld.'_

 _Persephone frowned a bit. 'Don't call me that. I was originally the goddess of springtime and vegetation. The Underworld was sort of an add-on gig when that fool Hades kidnapped me in that cursed meadow.'_

 _'_ _Anyways,' she added, 'that doesn't matter. The Olympians, er, request your... demigod help.'_

 _Her "stop, no, wait; stop again" tone wasn't helping my decision, like the goddess of pretty flowers and happy sunshine emojis talking to a demigod in The Pit of Eternal Damnation was killing her precious daffodil._

 _'_ _Go into the Forbidden Forest,' Persephone ordered with more ease. 'Find the dragon and the goddess of crossroads. Find Leo and Calypso.'_

 _At their name, my eyes widened and I started to talk back. 'Where—he's alive? Calypso-'_

 _'_ _Do what you always do – you'll figure it out. But, be warned. The Forest is crawling with hellhounds and monsters of Tartarus he himself sent to bug you. Now wake up, or you'll never get the chance.'_

The Jell-O melted from the time-space continuum and jolted my useless demigod brain out of sleep.

After a hurried breakfast at the teacher's quarters, I got up and ran over to one of the classrooms to teach the First Years.

I didn't really do much – the First Years were eleven, and they were too young to play with wicked knives as I planned for the Seventh Years, who had actual experience.

After the standard spell slaughtering and joke-cracking, I realized I was late for the Seventh Years.

'Uh...class dismissed! I'm late! Remember to work on those charms!'

After that, I went to the classroom I picked out. A bunch of my so-called students were lounging around in their seats.

I rushed into the room, nearly knocking my head on the doorframe. I didn't plan anything, probably because I was thinking about my friends and family back at New Rome. I tried to picture an eighteen-year-old teacher with no experience in magic to teach a bunch of other eighteen-year-olds who looked a lot older than the teacher. Yeah right.

So, I just stuck to my plan of introduction and swords. 'Okay, class. I'm Professor Jackson as you may've heard from Professor McGonagall's detention half-sorta speech in the mess—I mean, the Great Hall.' I was breaking some sweat, and that was weird since the place had magical air-conditioning, or so I'm told.

I actually just managed to keep my "planned" speech up because I heard my professor – yes, _my_ professor – make similar introductions. I continued as best as I could.

'So, because I know so, you all have been recently involved in a war, yes?' I was just buying time now. They all hung their heads, like they were checking their feet to see if any extra toes popped up from frustration.

'Okay – touchy topics established, let's get on with it. Spells need remembering, and since it's been quite a while, I expect some info's escaped from your "magick braens"' – I made air quotes with my fingers that were met with giggles – 'so today we'll spend half an hour practicing spells. Use whatever you have here – tables, books, quills, each other, the pillows specially designed for spells in the corner. Do your best! Whatever!'

I flung my arms in the air like it was Friday as all the wizards assembled in rows like they've been doing this all their lives. A bushy-haired Gryffindor – my house – was making herself busy by flinging random pillows with some Flinging Charms (or whatever. I'm not the best wizard) to the rest of the Seventh Years.

Now was the time to rack my brain for what to do next.

Miraculously, in half an hour, I got my brain back on track with my plan. I raised my arms in the air and shouted: 'Okay, wizards! Witches! It's been half an hour. Finish your spells and come up wherever I can see you all.'

They did as I was told, without the dead X-eyed snake that Shelby used to push in my mouth or pocket whenever I told her to brush her teeth, sharpen her crayons or do anything. I must've looked startled, because the same girl that flung the pillows like a boss raised her hand.

'Okay, who again?'

'Hermione, Professor Jackson.'

'Mmhmm. So what did you want to ask me?'

She balled her fist up in white rage. I started to raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, when she couldn't take any more.

' _You..!_ You're not even teaching us anything! You _act_ like you know things, but your darn "magick" isn't teaching us anything, giving us experience, nothing at all! You send us to do what you expect us to do, and you just sit on your chair while we're practicing spells I remember perfectly clearly! Do you not know what DADA is? I saw you playing with your wand - face it, Jackson, you are NOT a qualified teacher!' I started to protest, but she kept firing. 'TEACHERS TEACH! WIZARDS LEARN, AND ABSOLUTE AMATEURS PLAY ASTRONAUT WITH THEIR WANDS! This boy, Harry POTTER, defeated the Dark Lord! Neville over there wielded the sword of GRYFFINDOR!' Now I was mad. This had been going on for long enough, about fifteen minutes with breaks (Censored) and even more insults at me (also, apparently censored here).

Hermione took a deep breath. I realized she was going to fire more insults at my demigodishness, when I realized I had to take what I wanted. I was in charge, and these people were just my students. I could do whatever I want.

She just barely opened her mouth to fire when I found a large, vast reservoir of water to the left – the bathroom. I pulled at it, bending it under my will. The power of water was at my fingertips, and I was using it.

A tidal wave crashed through the doorframe, enveloping Hermione in an expanse of water, holding her feet about three chairs in the air. I waved my hand and Hermione's face came out of the liquid.

She gasped, clawing for breath. 'I was going to help you tap your so-called weak "magick" through your fingertips and bodies, so you would have a chance when someone, or an _enemy_ for that matter, Disarms your wand! Also, I had a wicked reservoir of weapons ready for you guys. You all let me down with your performance today.' I swept away the current and willed all the water to dry out. 'You're right: but I have something to say to you, little missy. Don't judge a proffessor by his personality.' I let that soak in for a bit, willed the power of the _angriest_ seas in the world and concentrated it into waves of pure hatred with a scowl - a little gift Nico taught me. Hermione dropped on a bunch of cushions in evil shock when I realized the time.

'Class dismissed.'

 **A/N: Heheh..I'm sorry for my evilness. I just wanted to tell everyone Hermione is human, not the Mary Sue everyone thinks her to be. Even heroes have their breaking points. Anyways...I ran out of cookies. Sors.**

 **I'll try to post on Sundays, and when I can't, I'll post on Mondays. I live in the equator, so the time zones are different. Expect short chapters when I try to get some updates out. Peace, love, and red snake pizza!**

 **REVIEW ANSWERS:**

 **Skuldvampteeth: I'll try to.**

 **FancyFangirl: Thanks! I try my best, though I'm almost always late...*Genevieve quip***

 **I10smasher: Oh yeah...I actually read my Harry Potter books in the week I went to Kuching, Sarawak for my cousin's wedding (twenty-something). She lent me the books, and I don't have them anymore for reference. Also, I read them when I was eight, so don't expect me to remember. Thanks, though!**

 **Look the locations up. I don't like research. Peace out!**


	4. Wicked Knives

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm saying sorry to SomeoneKnew, cause I got most of my facts cut off and twisted. Heheh, that happened.**

 **So, anyways, I am SUPE sorry. Since this is my fourth chapter, the next will be fifth; my Fact-Factor Chapter.**

 ***** _ **cough cough, lecture mode, cough***_ **This is to ensure that my fanfiction will finally be devoid of factless guesses, and the lazy excuse-me-author-notes will be filled with new chapters, so be ready to reread everything (with twists).**

 **The line-breaks will** _ **refuse**_ **to give you more seaweed ocean-bomb (didn't expect the line-breaks were evil, huh?) cookies and blue sour milk. Only I have the authority to give my readers cookies (I get them from Santa, while the line-breaks get them from the Grinch). After every ten chapters, I'll do a rerun chapter (use your IMAGINATION for this one – it won't work if you don't). Also, I had a bit of WRITER'S BLOCK so I update late. A lot. And, I'm sorry if Percy seems kinda OOC (out of character) in this chapter, cuz' this is a kind-of filler chapter. Oh well. Cue the gigantic castles and flying griffins! Cue the magical sticks! DRUMROLL!**

Wicked Knives

HERMIONE'S P.O.V.

HERMIONE COULD BARELY GET ANY SLEEP, and she couldn't even contemplate what happened in DADA. Hermione was merely expressing her feelings – and she genuinely felt them. Even Harry could teach better than that scoundrel of a wizard, Professor Jackson.

Then again, Hermione couldn't even stop looking at his raven black hair, his sharp sea-green eyes. ( **A/N: This is not Permione. I couldn't imagine Percy leaving Annabeth, and they say my imagination is limitless)**

She kept stealing glances at the professor during lunchtimes, snickering at him when he passed by. Hermione couldn't even concentrate during Arithmancy, and she got detention. _Detention._ She could hardly imagine the word, much less in her element class with Professor Vector!

It all compiled into a simmering curiosity during Wednesday breakfast time.

It was a usual day; Ron was furiously grappling with Seamus on why his Yorkshire pudding had brown-like bits stuck in the gelatine and Harry was slumping on his chair like the world was pushing him down. Hermione rethought that, since the world was, in fact, shoving him. The air held a disposition just so that the candles turned the colour of ugly vines they studied in Tuesday Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. ( **A/N: I know this is CHB's campfire's job, but let's just say Hecate blessed us all today)**

As usual, Hagrid was sitting on his chair up in the professor's aisle, laughing while the poor chair beneath him creaked so loud it made Hermione's ears bang.

The rest were filled; Headmistress McGonagall, mantling the position of both Transfiguration professor and the headmistress; the runty Professor Flitwick for Charms; that airy-fairy fool Trelawny woman who taught Divination with those gigantic eye-glasses, and the others.

The only chair that did not have a (visible) occupant was the DADA professor's. Hermione leaned forward, her crimped hair almost touching her homemade porridge (she made it herself, because SPEW was still in order!) and said, 'Do you know where that Jackson is? He's always sitting at his chair.' Ron shrugged between mouthfuls of what Seamus decided was chocolate and gelatine.

Harry looked up from his mystery meat dish. 'I saw him earlier at the Gryffindor common room huffing about something. Maybe about you, Mione.'

Hermione just twisted her braided pigtails in anxiety. Usually she'd just leave them glossed or curled, but Ron insisted as a sign of courtship, or 'dating' as he referred. What if they were right? She did leave quite the impression on the poor American professor (and the DADA class wall).

'Let's look on the Lumos side, 'Mione,' said Ron. 'We have about three free periods this morning, and one right before light's out. We can use them to find out who this "Professor Jackson" git really is.'

PERCY

ONE WORD ABOUT MISSING BREAKFAST WITH THE BRITS: Don't.

My tummy rumbled so loudly they even heard me in Australia. After my Tartarus sort-of dream, I rushed off into the common room to get my stuff, mumbling about jinxed toads and America's finest cheeseburgers.

Not long after I grabbed my stuff, I saw someone with dark hair and a faded red 'Z' on his forehead look at me. Next to him was Hermione and some red-haired guy who looked like he could almost pass as Rachel's twin.

I didn't pay much attention, though. I stumbled along some crossroads heading out, across some halls and up some twisting stairs, fell up a few and finally butt-skidded onto what I thought was the seventh floor.

Since I was late, I needed the stuff I put in this secret magic room yesterday desperately. I headed to the left hall, until I found a tapestry of some old crone seemingly teaching a bunch of Yodas in pink tutus to do the _arabesque_ and stuff (don't ask how I know: Shelby used to command me to do the stuff. It was almost as traumatic as Tartarus). The other wall was bare.

I nursed my butt for a while (those floorboards were sharp and maybe magically oiled specially to pierce people's hams, I swear!).

Haha. Yeah,you could be saying, 'The great Perseus Jackson is trying to break the record of butt-skidding across ancient castles in really long bathrobes?'. Mmhmm. Yeah right.

So, in case you may be wondering, I stored most of the wicked blades and pizza cutters in the Room of Requirement (which I learned from this Herbology dude who said he was the guy who killed this noseless' dude's pet snake).

I got some really sick stuff in there – some lightsabers I looted from Shelby's ankle-biter friends (which I found could magically turn into kunai), two Celestial bronze Greek swords, some Imperial gold thingamajigs of what Jason called _pila_ or something, and some things I'm too bothered to name.

Anyways, back to the story. After nursing my sorry bruised butt, I walked past the bare wall three times, thinking: ' _Please open the door to the place I stored my knives, and maybe some cheeseburgers. Or a Red Bull. I don't mind if it isn't blue, just give me something edible, my knives and lightsabers, or maybe a bottle of butt-ointment or something. I'm starving my sorry wizard tummy here.'_

You don't need to hear the rest of my thought train, 'cause all the rest after the lightsaber part was about food and my complaining about food and some ointment for my rear.

I almost didn't notice when the door opened – maybe it solved my problem of starvation – but it didn't. All I saw in there were three floating shelves (may the force be with you) and a pail full of white cream. No food, but I found a can of Coke ( **A/N: OK, I know this isn't possible, but let's just say Hecate put it there. Just invoke the name of Hecate when I get my facts twisted up – let's not search for excuses or something)**.

After downing the Coke, I grabbed all of the swords from the shelf and ran out. I saw some musty old box in the corner, but it was too late to turn back now.

Harry

As soon as the DADA professor ran out of the Room of Requirement, Harry and his friends sneaked in.

The walls, or what Harry could see of the walls, were covered in slimy green ooze and musty cobwebs. The floor creaked under his robes, lightly brushing against the cloth. He glanced to the side and analyzed the contents of the three floating shelves. 'Lumos,' Harry heard Ron whisper, and a bright blue light illuminated the room.

He heard the _click_ of the door being shut behind him.

Harry quickly spun around, a wild look in his eyes and his body unknowingly poised to strike the intruder with his wand. 'Jeez, Harry! It's only me!' Turns out, it was Hermione who shut the door.

'God, Hermione, you scared me.' They went back to the search. 'Look at this, guys,' the brunette whispered, the sound vibrating slowly through the musty air.

Harry took a deep breath and crept over to where the witch was standing, and unknowingly kept the breath pent up in his wizard lungs. With surprising courage, Ron came over and slowly moved the wooden lid while illuminating the box with his wand.

The wooden lid fell with a muted crash. They all peered inside.

It was filled with Time-Turners.

 **A/N:Hello, and yes. I just left you a blumming cliffhanger.**

 **Also, I had so many nice reviews, and thanks for standing up for the rights of PJO, Titophilip. Anyways, I also have had writers block, my immortal enemy. Ugh...**

 **I need guidance! Please PM me/review with your thoughts on what the Time-Turners could be used for...if you send a good idea (and many people send many good/could be better ideas), I'll mash them together and mix it into the concoction of this plot that's starting to smell like that Time-Turner box.**

 **Keep the good reviews up!**

 **-Shasha (BTW, that's my name. Sorry for updating so late.)**


	5. Dreamland P 1

**A/N: OMG Guys I'm so sorry that I updated late. Turns out I'm still a noobie and FanFiction does NOT, in turn, count chapter-edits as updates. How sad – I was actually on time yesterday.**

 **ANYWAYS…this chapter is ultimately my fault because it's really, really supposed to be long. And quite hard to write.**

 **QUESTION OF THE DAY: Have you ever felt that feeling when you just make yourself write hard…because of self-spite and pity? And you cry when you make so many twisting plot twists in the back but not the first page and they all are so sad you just barf sad-emojis?**

 **That's what I felt like when I was writing…first dual chapter. Next will be uploaded Saturday – Wednesday, something like that. Happy fasting and Ramadhan month! Now excuse me because I need to go break fast. Literally breakfast –in the evening. Yum, hunger…you know what? –end**

 **Dreamland**

 ** _PERCY POV_**

I HAVE DAILY REVELATIONS. I just don't expect or remember them sometimes – a simple side-effect of being a normal demigod son of Poseidon. No pressure there.

You know, like the one where I realized I hadn't even eaten my pondscum pill, or that I don't know what my wand core is, or that I realize that when people eat themselves their mouths can't even reach their stomach, feet, or even any place on your face like the jaw. You can't eat yourself, kids. Science trumps stupid theories, my fiancée always quotes – man, did she always quote that? Shelby must be a supergenius by now, with none of that normal-demigod laid-back syllabus I teach her. She always trusts Annabeth.

I also had this really wizard one (see what I did there?), where I realized that lateness is kinda like earliness to a late class, but lateness to an early class aren't really polar opposites like those fluffy scientists say…yeah. I need to stop or I'll get more gray hair than I got when I was holding that mountain of a giant...Titan? Or was it the sky? I don't know. Demigods forget. I was about thirteen. Maybe – maybe Annabeth would know.

I was flunked out of my album of really Athena-like revelations by this searing pain, much like the acidic water of the Styx from Tarta…Erebos, ran through my head like Greek fire – and those green vials of destruction ignite EVERYTHING from your immediate surroundings, your furniture and those cute bunny slippers you were longing to get in to.

When I looked up from that episode of Crucio, I found a really rough, red brick, solid…column of bare redbrick wall.

You don't get the words _bare brick wall_ in Hogwarts. You don't get bare _anything_ once the wizards start working. So, naturally, I was really confused. I was heading to...(uhm, my head is so disoriented I forgot)? My head hurt (obviously), I was forgetting things (less obvious), and I was missing home and the smell of fart-nuts Hedge always baked (probably even more obvious than the United States of America).

My eyes darted around from battle-training instinct, but all I found was bare brick wall-maze everywhere, with all square corners full of deadly Daedalus traps and at the same time really, really creepy, I found another revelation.

Two mystical, demigodish words: The Labyrinth.

The initial reaction of that, (refer to this book RR, our senior scribe had written: Battle of the Labyrinth) was immediately: _go run for your life, or you'll be trapped, or even worse, bump into some unexpected goddess that will trump Gaia with her mighty nicknames._

Which was probably what I did.

*insert lazy cut-and-paste linebreak here*

* * *

HARRY POV

They watched as the professor of 'waterwork' cut through the hall at breakneck speed, breaths bated as they stifled their laughs.

It was quite a complex nonverbal charm, but it was nothing a NEWT-leveled student couldn't do. They had acquired the charm from, of course, Hermione who achieved it as a "winning prize" of the weekly Wonky Nonverbal Spells Club the girl organized along with a dying SPEW.

As soon as the awkwardness was verified, Ron broke the auspicious silence by muttering, 'Nothing a good old charm couldn't prove. He _is_ a crybaby, and I've bloody hell proven it!' Hermione shook her head, while tracking the professor with some spell. Harry didn't mind – nonverbal spells would quickly be learned (most likely by trial and lots of error) with Hermione around. A voice, probably of Hermione's, said in his mind: _You won't become a bloody Auror like this, Harry,_ to which he replied out loud, 'I don't care.' He still felt dark from the war, most probably.

 **A/N: Yeah…Harry arrogance. Heehee!**

Harry's friends looked at him, Ron more inquiring than concentrated/Hermione-expression. 'Do shut your mouth. I'm concentrating,' she snapped while waving her wand in the air, tracking the Wizard of Waterworks (Professor Jackson's recent nickname) through the maze Ron and Harry helped to create.

They had to make things: a potion, extract from the Marauder's Map, and more complex things Harry was too agonized to name to get this one spell – Ron betted fifteen Galleons (his Hogwarts Hogsmeade weekly paid savings) and his pride on it.

Hermione frowned and set down her wand – Harry could hear the shattering of Room-of-Requirement worthy brick walls and the falter of their illusion.

'Guys,' she whimpered, which was not a good sound coming from the greatest witch of her age. 'You should look at this.'

 ***yeah, this is a line break. I'm not allowed to give you komodo-spit cookies anymore. Sigh***

* * *

HERMIONE POV

Nothing had gone wrong so far – Hermione had it all covered: the lists, the wizards, the kit, the knowledge, the know-how and the perfect assistance of two great wizards, yet something had to go wrong too. Nothing went her way.

Something had caught her into a net of confusion, and what she hated most was to be trapped in a net without freedom of speech or the freedom of privacy and confusion. _Especially_ confusion.

Ever since she had set her eyes on that specimen of bizarre wizard, she had been fascinated – _interested,_ even. The way he hid his past, the way he sweated pure grains of salt when he was nervous, the way his eyes shined when he talked about his 'home'. Now she practically, or literally, or probably understood why the mystery wizard of waterworks acted so nervous.

When Hermione had tracked the professor in the brick maze she had imprisoned him in, he had been a dark blue blur of sea and salt while running for dear life. Her simple, non-complex and non-threatening, perfectly calculated reaction was "this is like flicking a hamster into a hamster ball", and also a perfectly uncommon simile.

But that was before she zoomed into the image that the spell she casted flashed into her great mind. On the inside of a particular arm were black markings, burnt scores where a Dark Mark should be on a Death Eater.

 _A Death Eater._

The revelation put her into frowning, completely surprising shock. The perfectly calculated system, the perfect spells, all blown into Muggle confetti to decorate her party of sorrow by the net of confusion the spell – and the professor – had meticulously thrown on her ever-sharp mind.

After carefully masking her expression and replacing it with a fear of fright to many short a degree, Hermione asked (or ordered) her partners to ultimately "check it out".

Now life had become a game of cat-and-mouse. That very same game of cat-and-mouse including of a very mysterious, non-relevant cat that would play his yarn till the edge of the yard, and three very curious mice that would corner that very same cat at the edge of the world if needed to see the poor cat's reaction – to see him falter. To see him surprise, drop the yarn and the playful masquerade to reveal a dark wizard, someone who can't possibly be that perfect.

But the three very curious mice would never have that long – especially if "that long" is sped up by mistakes and random failure-confetti. Hermione knew what she wanted – or was that the question? Did she even _know_ what she desired, wanted, feared?

The questions ran through her mind like mystery liquid as she reflected on her past, calculated her future and weighed the present situ—

'Hermione, will you quit spacing out on us?' Ron shattered her thoughts with a simple sentence. Hermione blinked a few times and picked up her wand to promote what she had seen from her vision into the air with a simple charm.

She wasn't sure which – lately she'd been having problems remembering the names of special charms, but she could do them from heart instantly. It was like something had poured mud all over the section of her mind that was labeled 'Name Remembering' and the only remaining neurons at the surface crawled into her memorial stage of her practical witch-heart. That was why she managed to pull the nonverbal charms and spells off.

Back to her eyes, Hermione witnessed a holographic full-colour image of what she saw – and the present.

On the image was the recording of professor's signature running away from a constantly fading illusion of redbrick wall, but he had an unusual bronze sword in his hand – the very same hand on which held the black scores Hermione had peeked on.

'Bloody hell,' Ron whispered. 'He's got the Dark Mark on his arm...' Finally, Harry and Ronald made the snapping understanding statement only they combined, as best friends, could make. 'He's a Death Eater! He's working for...' Hermione frowned. They didn't have to synchronize their dialogue this harshly for so long, so she snapped her fingers.

'We don't know who he's working for, possibly himself or an acquaintance of The One Who Must Not Be Named.' Harry sighed, which was the first time he had spoken up ever since the illusion had taken place.

'You don't need to say Voldemort's secret name anymore – he's dead. End of story. We, are _done._ ' At which Harry hung his wild black head, mentally preparing himself for defeat like every time the world pushed the Boy Who Lived and Lied About It (his newfound title) to the brink of mentality.

'The important thing is,' Hermione explained to the two imbeciles that were hinging on her words, 'That that mark is undetermined. Now we have a new goal.'

Ron scratched that shimmering lock of redness at the sides of his head that had grown significantly longer than when Hermione last saw him. 'Which is supposed to be...?' He waved his arms in a meaningless repeat of his words.

'Simple. We find out what the mark is.'

 **A/N: Ugh...I'm a horrible person. I spent too long doing this chapter that I have actually worn my mother out of excuses!** **L**

 **Expect the next chapter to be just as late. My mother has me on Vengeance Patrol, and she sends a mean stinging emotional scolding snap.**

 **Also, I've realized that my writing has grown a bit fluent with the Harry Potter style, and a tiny chance of being OOC with Percy. Next week we'll be gladly finding out about Percy's reaction, and a funny plot twist...two, exactly, will be in order. I have organized my things – sorry if this is a filler, because to me, it looks like one.** **L**

 **Peace, the peaks of Shasha's peaks out!**

 **Also, please PM/review on this story to give me plot ideas. I'm running awfully short.**


	6. Dreamland P2

**A/N: HEY GUYSSSSS!**

 **So…this is an actual filler, probably, I don't know…listening to 'I'm Stronger Than You' in Steven Universe while typing this. It's for three hours.**

 **And, if I'm wrong, I'm sorry because my head is too full (my stomach is relatively empty) to retype, and I promise I'll rewrite any mistakes on the next tenth chapter (I'm cancelling the imagination part, I still can't find a reasonable argument to argue and reason with myself, because I'm a selfless, mean critic…to myself and my world). OK, too much, GO** **GO** **GO** **!**

 **SEGMENT FROM MY SONG:**

 ***look it up. Duh. Sorry – I'm feeling mean today***

Dreamland P. 2

RON POV (mmhmm, his own point of vish vish)

Ron rustled in his comfortable Gryffindor bed, seeming not to get enough sleep as he was pondering the situation.

 _How can I help? How will I help? Why_ would _I help,_ the redhead thought while running his pale freckled through his vigorously auburn-turning hair, but it was relatively hard for his pillow was gigantuan. The 'hows' and 'why's had torn him from his sleep, constantly pummeling his head with the relative questions.

Finally, he got up (as waking up at three in the morning pondering life is tiring) and headed down some steps into the common room, where the Gryffindor chimney fire was crackling away – apparently hastily (but effectively) tended before the most probable house elf had run.

Ron promptly set on the comfortable, cushioned chair while ruffling his red hair in annoyance. He finally resolved to observing the flickers of the spark, trying to go to sleep, but he had a sudden spark of flame in his head (no pun intended) lighting fire to a new set of…conspicuous ideas, seemingly out of place…?

Ron clearly remembered a flashback from Muggle Studies, the early history section he had to endure of his father.

 _The redhaired professor smiled, sat down and started explaining the early history of Greek and Roman Muggles – they were basic enough. Even though Ron pretended not to, he actually was absorbing the information from the over-enthusiastic fatherly professor as he set down the rules. No wands unless needed, all the Muggle things, and only 21_ _st_ _century equipment was allowed._

 _Arthur Weasley quickly jotted down a few things about early Greek and Roman Muggles: they were city-like citizens, they had town hearths where you could just happen to be strolling, and if you came to stop it would be the kingdom's duty to help you; and the final, most important element: they had gods._

' _They had the goddess of magic and the Mist, Hecate, the founder of wizardkind. Apparently, she had been experimenting with the clay from the early oceans and infused them with magic to keep us, (he gestured at himself and everyone around) animated. 'Unfortunately, or rather without the "un", she imbued us with so much magic that the first stick we touched turned magical with the core and sea that had been put in there by Oceanus, the Titan (another deity among the Greeks) of the oceans thus the name.'_

 _Ron's father continued to meticulously arrange and rearrange and announce the message of the Greeks, then moving on to the Romans' history. Apparently, they had this legion, this army and whole history…but Ron was still amazed by the list of goddesses and gods his red-headed father had told him about – Zeus, master of lightning and the sky, Poseidon, the god of sea…_

' _The legions would sometimes comprise of demigods, half-god, half-mortal, which is what they called Muggles. Normal legionnares would have scores on their arms, burned into a few bug-black markings, such as so…' the professor of Muggle Studies drew on the blackboard on what the burnt scores (scones? Ron was hungry) looked like._

 _Professor Weasley finished his sketch, and an image appeared on the board._

 _On it was an image of a legionnare's arm, with four scores representing four years of service to the legion, the Roman army or Aurors. Above was the sign 'SPQR' that stood for 'Senatus Populusque Romanus', but Ron relatively forgot the meaning. For demigods, Weasley explained, there would be a symbol representing their godly parent…_

 _Godly parent._

Ron flashed back to the image of the symbol in his mind, though faded…godly parent…

He stood up firmly, and immediately rushed over back to the dorm he shared with Harry. Surprisingly, the Master Of Death he so looked up to drooled and mumbled about redheaded fish in his sleep.

'Harry!' Ron started whisper-shouting, but the poor wizard wouldn't even mumble anymore. 'Harry, you git, wake up!'

Apparently, the 'git' part worked extravagantly as the mass of black hair bumped into his forehead at the mentioning of it.

'R-Ron…?' He moaned; when he looked around the room, he repeated the words, or at least reconciled with the meaning. 'Ron, why would you wake me up in the wee hours of the night? I wake you up, most of the while.'

Instead of a reply, Ron made do with a shake, an exaggerated pull and another heft – this resulted in a very, very annoyed but awake Boy Who Lived And Died.

'I need to show you something, Harry…'

*Deh line break. Don't mind me. Doodidaaa.*

HARRY POV

'Harry, you git, wake up!'

Like magic, the words pulled him up from his deep slumber with the redheaded Ginny fishes (no pun intended…most likely). The rest was a blur as Harry's best friend hefted him from bed and into the common room. 'Sit down,' Ron commanded – unusual for him, but somehow it worked. Harry sat down.

In front of the crackling fire, shadows danced all around them creepily taking shapes of unearthly figures as Ron explained the mysterious symbols on Jackson's arm. Harry was still half-asleep, but that was before Ron slapped the edge of his tape-bound wand against his pale face. 'The real professor, huh,' Harry mumbled as he nursed his stinging cheek.

After the slapping, Ron explained about the Muggle Studies lesson, Greeks and Romans, the scores and everything he was too lazy to name ( **or I was lazy to name. It depends, really.** )

Diminishingly creepy, a figure from the firelight shadows approached them, seemingly straight from the corners of the common room.

'What are you doing in the middle of the night slapping each other with your wands and talking about Muggle history? Especially you, Ronald.' When the figure stepped into the firelight, it revealed a very pale, very bushy-haired, and a very tired face of Hermione.

'If anything,' the witch said as she sat herself on a couch, 'I should be the one asking and telling the questions…and the respective answers.'

Ron shook his head, and gestured to Harry to say something. His red-haired friend's expression read, _do help me with this?_

An exchange of staring occurred, and Harry was unanimously declared the leader.

'If anything, we should be asking you,' the Boy Who Lived tiredly muttered in rhetoric acceptance. Ron held up his cowardly hands as a gesture of cease-fire. 'We were talking about our problem.'

'Which is,' Hermione tilted her head in response.

'Which is the mystery markings on the professor's—'

Ron was ungraciously cut off by Hermione's squealing, but Harry didn't mind. He was used to Hermione's squealing – Ron, though, seemed to have an aggravating problem with witch-sounds.

'You knew about this…and you didn't tell me?' Harry shook his head and cupped the black locks (along with his scarred head) into his hands while the two fought silently in a battle of wills and witches like an old married couple. He didn't really mind – he was half-asleep anyway.

That was before the poltergeist came in.

*another random line-break because I FEEEEEEEL*

HERMIONE POV (I'll have to cut this short)

Hermione was just explaining the flaws of Ronald Weasley to his dear face when a white ghost, with faded clothes but bright eyes and hair, danced into the Gryffindor common room generally causing destruction.

'Peeves,' she whispered, but loudly so her two companions could hear…but the poltergeist was most likely in range of the soundwaves.

'It's me, yes it's me, applause?!' The troublemaking poltergeist clapped his hands once, and a dozen clapping, not anatomically correct hands went flying from seemingly nowhere – the common room wasn't nearly as big to hold stashes of random items.

Harry stood up. 'Peeves,' he stated simply, 'Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in a classroom messing with equipment and junk?'

Peeves just wiggled his dashing eyebrows. 'The question is, what are you doing here? Also, a free answer: TO QUESTION YOUR PRESENCE!' The troublemaker seemed to think and pointed his hand to nowhere in particular like a real-life overexaggerated cartoon. 'And also to read everyone's dreams,' he added.

Before the Golden Trio could say, insult or question anything, the poltergeist grinned and resumed shooting sentences around while torn hands clapped for him at inappropriate cues.

'How can ya doo dat, Peevsie, you say, yadda yadda yadda I don't know!' He repositioned himself in a scholarly expression. 'I really don't know.'

Finally, during a small breather (could poltergeists breathe?) of his clownlike speech, Hermione found an opportunity to do something. 'Excuse us, Peeves, but we need to do a huddle-up for just a wee minute.'

Before the rest of her team could protest, Hermione shushed them up. 'We can use his powers to our advantage. Follow my lead, and as long as you keep your filthy mouths shut, we can get an insight to Jackson…and his intimate fears.'

Peeves frowned from his legless abode above, stroking one of the unattached clappers. 'That was much more than a wee minute, Hermione, Ronald and Scarsies!'

Hermione could hear Harry groaning, but enough was enough. 'Let's strike a deal,' the clever witch began. 'What if you go and creep into the teacher's quarters with us, and you read just _one_ of the professor's dreams instead? Bring us inside his dream, and I promise it will be fun.' She had to talk to Peeves like a little child, but it was fine.

'What do I get?'

'How about two hours of playtime in the boy's bathroom twice a week?'

'Deal.'

And off they went with the poltergeist to read an American's dream.

 **A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS IS ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER.**

 **I just had to get this out quickly…just because…?**

 **I also have no time for a long Author's Note. Goodbye world, and I'll need to practice on my waxing.**


	7. Dreams Are So Overrated

**A/N: OMJG (Oh My Jostled Goodness) I'm sooooo sorry because I took a break this long…**

 **It was a humongous case of fresh Writer's Block…**

 **WHICH IS STILL GOING ON** **L**

 **Exams: 1 week…oh noes**

 **Mmmhmm…I know I don't know Ronald Weasley – he's not exactly my redheaded cup of tea, 'cause he seems so…** ** _underdeveloped._** **I'll be trying to shave him off a bit, maybe go with Rowling's original plan of action – Dramione and no Romione. Especially the shaving of "Ro".**

 **But I have no idea – maybe I'll give Ron another shot. Maybe. Just maybe. Anyways, this may be of poor quality because…I don't know. I'm not in a writing mood. I'm planning to make a storyboard poll so I know what you guys think! :D**

Dreams Are SOOO Over-Rated

PERCY POV

DINNER IS MANDATORY, but sleep is a curse – it was another revelation I came up with while I walked into the teacher's quarters, nice and full from dinner. At least I got food and a bath – I needed it.

Apparently, Hogwarts offered pretty nice bathrooms with soap bubbles and little things for a water, which left me smelling like lemony lavender mixed with mint and feeling like I went through an ultra-squeaky car wash. Basically, I smelled like a gourmet wizard chicken wearing sneakers. Not exactly the best feeling to go to sleep with, but meh.

The cozy Head of House professor's cabin was a room that branched off of the common room, kinda like a secret hideout in the middle of a secret hideout. I didn't know whether the room was as protected as the rest of the beaten magic institute for people with magical sticks, but I took the chances. I mean, who would want to rob your stuff if all your stuff was just trinkets from America? – Unless the guy was crazy, which would be…I don't know what it would be then.

I set myself on a couch near the fire since I repurposed my bed to a makeshift counter holding all of the dumb research books I had to read about the history of Hogwarts and junk. Annabeth would have read those stat.

 _Annabeth._

A searing pain flared in my back, on my head and in my ankles, but it subsided as quickly as it appeared. I made a mental note to IM her later, but sleep was first – if not for sleep, I wouldn't get to relive the Pit of Evil, or get any omens from camp. I still had the box of drachmas I packed, but it had to last me until Christmas. It had to.

The crackle of the fire was a constant reminder of Hell, but at least it put my body to rest…which was another constant reminder of Hell.

HARRY POV

'Uhm, Hermione,' Harry whispered as they led the noisy poltergeist into the teacher's quarters with a seemingly untrusting tone. 'Are you sure about the dream-reading poltergeist plan?' All the Boy Who Lived received in response was an unsatisfying sigh and a dismissing whack on the shoulder. 'Just because you're a Muggle-born doesn't mean you have to hit like one.' Hermione repeated the beat action.

'Of course I am,' she finally replied while giving a pointed look at Ron, but Harry sensed a sliver of uncertainty in the witch's voice.

Finally, they made it to the nearby teacher's quarters – with the help of the Marauder's Map, the Head of House's room was quickly unlocked and uncovered. Harry suspected the American professor didn't understand the concept of troublemakers in a magic school; but then again, he himself had set that standard.

The first conception of Jackson's room was indiscriminately cluttered. Dirty, orange clothes littered the various easy chairs that were trashed enough with piles of unsorted pictures frequenting a black, vaguely Egyptian-featured girl and a blonde woman.

Harry had to kneel to find himself elbow-deep in papers when he came to the side of the bed (which was covered in unread books), but the crunch wasn't audible enough to disturb a deep-slumbering drooling wizard professor. Harry pocketed a few for "forensic" means, as though it would matter. Ron was simply avoiding both of his friends (and a poltergeist) by using the hide-in-the-corner technique – it wasn't working.

Hermione, however, was guiding the mad (cray-cray) Peeves the Poltergeist into a silenced world of stalking teachers. Eventually though, the Trio and the troublemaking ghost managed to creep to the fire, which was blocked by the unresidented bed and a couch which took it's place while restraining the said ghost and, apparently, nose-dive into a wizard's dreams.

*LIIIIIIIIIINE oh just forget it*

The first thing they saw was an immediate black void, and the first thing they heard was the crackling of a fire…and smelled what seemed like sulfur…?

'Hermione,' Harry firmly voiced in the dark, 'Are you really sure about—'

'Oh Potty, shush.' Peeve's voice was silent and annoyingly sarcastic, but the poltergeist's command was simple and Harry surprisingly (and agitatingly) obeyed.

'We're entering the guy's dream…' Their eyes eventually adjusted to the dimness of the dream, but in a normal dream you wouldn't have contrast – another piece of proof that Jackson was even more creepily like Harry than he thought.

Flames and soft cheese-like ground covered the whole chunk of the land they could see, dotted with blobs of pulsing red lights. _What is this place,_ Harry thought while swinging his head around, absorbing the information of the field of red. Ron voiced this thought in an almost similar idea and fashion; 'This place is creepy, dear lord. Where the bloody hell are we?'

Hermione waved her hands for silence. 'Keep moving, guys. We need to find Jackson!'

So, they proceeded into the dim hell with a crunching determination.

The terrain they passed through was unusually soft but at the same time tough, unforgiving but still easy, and surprisingly combustible but damp enough to make you feel 'ugh'. Harry recalled having to pass through veins of fire, tiers of steep bedrock and the feeling of pain – constant threats flew around the group of wizards, but none of them paid them any mind. Bubbles of frightening creatures popped and seemed to float away, or rise in shaky discomfort.

The sky was absent, leaving a dark hole in the place of comforting warmth and sunshine – Harry was starting to think this was actually hell.

He was pondering this train of thought until a freckly hand seemed to push back his stomach—

'Ron,' Harry managed to painfully gasp. The redhead's arms was stronger than he thought. 'Sorry,' was the dismissing answer. The arm continued to point to a figure in the distance.

An agonizing scream travelled through the hell, a vaguely familiar voice chattered from the same source. 'This way,' Harry commanded, and the trio managed to get through another vast slope of steep, unforgiving rock. The terrain was starting to take a toll on the scarred boy, let alone for his two friends( **duh** ).

In front of them was the most ghastly sight they would ever see for the rest of their lives.

Professor Jackson, in tattered clothes, was swinging a bronze sword seemingly aiming at hags with bat wings. They talked in unison, but Harry noted that the voice(s) melded together in a tinny sound.

 _The great Percy Jackson,_ the voice said. It resembled the screeching of bell talons on a rock hard chalkboard covered in glass.

 _We are the curses. Die in the depths of Hell, the depths of Tartarus! Your friends will lose the war to the Earth Mother, to the forces of the giants!'_

Beside Harry, Hermione shook her head. 'War with the Earth Mother? Maybe he was teaching us after all…' Jackson continued to swipe at the bat-winged grandmothers, regardless of his bleeding sides, his sickened face, the hole through his shoulder, knee, hip and chest.

Next to the professor was a woman with curly blond hair, and a janitor (?) with silver Einstein hair and a broom tipped with a silver spear tip. He seemed to have given up, and kept repeating: 'I only helped because of the other one. That is why Bob helped,' on and on. Apparently, this did not help whatsoever.

 _Your friends, will they live? Will you live, with all the pain and suffering you have caused? Will you choose the path of Phineas, of Geryon, of all the people you have wreaked suffering and death upon? We are the curses! We will repay you, we will repay the pain!_

Jackson straightened his posture and readied himself to strike the hags, but the girl beside him collapsed on the ground. She flailed and writhed on the rock, slowly steaming and scratching her now-white flesh. Her grey eyes had turned blank, and the beautiful blond curls withered into nothing but a blank husk. 'Annabeth,' he gasped in shock. When he tried to touch her, the girl (friend?) he called Annabeth disappeared in a flash of flame and reappeared on a dead hill some five Quidditch fields ahead.

The professor emanated a strong blue glow from the depths, but it was lightly tinted with a swirling charcoal shade as Harry watched in terror. 'No…I'LL KILL YOU ALL!'

The professor swiped even faster, the black inferno gathering in mass and size almost completely enveloping the warm glow of the sea, the one Harry had envied during the meet in the Great Hall. Bat-winged hags exploded into corn starch (?) every time Jackson lopped off a limb of a bat-grandmother. Not very polite, Harry noted, but you couldn't exactly shout that to a bloody-hell surviving professor of magic while he's killing bat grannie-hybrids, could you?

The curses, however, didn't do anything but multiply in flashes of corn silk, constantly teasing the professor with curses and visible punctures. Jackson's charcoal mist got so deep and massive that it completely enveloped the man, furiously letting out hurricanes of doubt and thought.

 _She had become one of the curses, one of the reminders of his failure to protect_.

 _'_ _Protect her, Bob. Please. Forgive me.'_

The brave sword-wielding wizard wilted on the spot, clearly out of blue (or black) juice. Crouching in despair with his sword on his side, punctured limbs and body parts, bleeding organs and grime and dust on his face, he looked like someone who went through hell - likewise. He looked like a devilishly handsome person that lay on the floor of an attic, gathering dust after being hit by a train. He looked like a corpse.

The curse-grandmothers with bat wings and fangs cleared a path much better than the smoothest terrain of hell, which to say is as rough as the steepest hill on Earth. A pedestal shot up from the dark bedrock, the only ray of beautiful light in the whole of the pit.

Standing regally on the pedestal was a dark-haired woman in flowing robes with golden bracelets on her hands. 'Percy Jackson,' the woman said; her voice was deep and rich like an operatic tenor.

Who Harry knew as his DADA professor stood up shakily, but still stood up. The dark-haired woman waved her hand, and all the most visible holes in Harry's professor closed as much as duct tape can do.

'Hera,' he managed to bloodily cough out.

'Yes, whatever. You've survived this test Tartarus has sent you, and I am only able to relieve your pain for a little while. See, I used to hang from this very cliff on the maw of Chaos by Zeus when I told the Olympian Council to become an organized democratic one.'

 _Tartarus? Chaos? Zeus? Olympian Council?_

'For that exact reason, you should wake up. This dream is only a tasting of what Tartarus and his brother have prepared for you in the Forbidden Forest. I say, go now and attack before the sky and the pit hold you and fifty trillion other monsters, and most likely three of your students in their grasp. As I said, wake up because I'm getting a splitting headache from all that sulfur. I need to go.'

The podium and the hill collapsed on top of the hags, crushing them into yellow powder. Apparently, normal hills and a woman can kill fifty thousand million bat-grandmothers, but the bravest ahead of Andros on his cards in the Chocolate Frogs by far can only succeed in multiplying them. Bummer.

Even the girl Annabeth and the janitor who Harry guessed his name was Bob disappeared, leaving a tattered DADA professor alone in the whole of Hell. 'You know,' he said as he turned around to face them, 'you could have just asked me, you three. I'll see you tomorrow.'

And he too, disappeared with a flash along with the terrain of Hell.

Don't Mess With Me (BONUS)

HERMIONE POV (I'm going easy mode on PJO. Extra flurry of P&J and O tomorro')

Luckily, Hermione succeeded in pulling the rest of her tired body out of the teacher's quarters before dawn – even though the dream-spying had happened in a _dream_ , real or surreal, all the tired trots through the terrain of – Tartarus, was it? – took a toll on her. And, basically, shouldn't it be morn by now?

'That…' she only managed to squeak as she breathed the clean, non-toxic air of the Wizarding World. Hermione pushed all other thoughts out of her head…for now. Tartarus would have to see a thorough search in the library – aside from that, Hermione didn't have much to ask for.

The horrible experience had scarred her for the rest of her Wizarding experience, even more than the deaths in the second Wizarding War. Hell should've killed her already (Hell was made for dead people anyways).

Hermione, for once, had skipped the calendar-viewing, the homework-reviewing, the textbook revision and all the various learning routines in the morning. It took all her energy even to haul herself onto the common room couch and loll her head to the front, blacking out.

 _Sniffle sniffle._

Hermione furrowed her brow above her still-closed eyes, clenching her jaw to the noise. Her head and legs still ached from treading hell.

"Waaaaaaaahhh!"

Opening her eyes to a half-lidded degree of some sort, of all the things in this world or Jackson's…

 ** _Dear Merlin's underpants._**

Right in front of Hermione's face (and the fireplace) was the charcoal mist in Jackson's dream, slowly rising from a blue-lit fire crackling earnestly away…

was the most reproachful and hideous face she had ever seen.

It was missing a nose, its skin pallid and shriveling and cracking in various places, and it just so happened to be a bloody, bloody wailing mist-version of Voldemort.

And a bronze sword was sticking out of his bald head of the mist.

Hermione got off of the bed, approaching the mist with more still anger than the massive chunk of fear that pervaded her mind, although inside that chunk was a wailing child, screaming for her dear life. 'No, sir,' she said as she flipped her tails and clenched her teeth (which cracked). She raised a hand (which made her fist sore). 'You will never mess with me again.' The charcoal mist turned into blue flakes as Hermione punched through them.

 **A/N: Sorry. So sorry.**

 **The last part was a cliffhanger made by a twinkling of thought in the furthest pack of my noggin, and my fingers were typing on their own! Oh, and I really wanted to show a bit of Hermione Woman and Elf-Rights here in this chapter…more concerning Percy and Ron next chapter, oh, and maybe a few old friends will come visit.**

 **P.S.: It is not Annabeth.**

 **P.S.S.: Really! It isn't!**


	8. Author's Note and Bonus

I am, officially, a horrible person. Starting from now, The Quest of Two Worlds is officially on _**hiatus**_.

I will accept the pain.

Please refer to my profile for further explanation. Give me suggestions on how to continue this fic, and flames are now welcome, I deserve them, and I will try to continue to the best of my ability. See, life got in the way, the nonexistent plot is in the way, and now I have severed so many promises in so many words that I'd continue this fic because of the previous statements. Here are some options:

a) edit everything with new plot

b) leave it as it is and upload the rewrite on a separate fic

c) whatever you decide that doesn't fit in with a) and b)

So, I apologize for any cringes this story might have given you plot-wise, paragraph-wise, and grammar-wise. I will continue to work on this fic, but my inspiration just...leaked out of me and I am now hyper for something else. Forgive my childish tendencies. As an extra apology, I'll give you the first part of Chapter Eight - unedited, slow like a turtle nearing death, and the works of a shameful ten-year-old me.

 **UPDATE:** **OKAY. I SAID THIS WAS ON HIATUS. IT'S KIND OF DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I COMPLETELY DISREGARDED THAT FACT. THE BELOW AUTHOR'S NOTE IS FROM WHEN I FIRST TYPED UP THIS DOCUMENT. I'LL BE PUTTING UP A POLL FOR THE ABOVE CHOICES, SO STICK AROUND MY PROFILE AND _PLEASE_ VOTE. I WON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO OTHERWISE, AND IF SO THIS STORY MIGHT BE ABANDONED. I'LL TRY AS HARD AS I CAN TO PREVENT THAT OUTCOME. PLEASE HELP ME! GAH! **

* * *

**Okay, so long story short: Two weeks of exams, a very tired mind, two weeks of non-stop writing, a very weary mind, cheeseburgers, re-reading the whole of my owned Harry Potter books, more cheeseburgers, re-reading all of my Leo-related books, re-planning the whole chapter, agonizing about the lost months, trying to re-do and copy all of my chapters which have been stolen from me by FF because I didn't look at them for nearly a month, imagining cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers, lots more cheeseburgers, planning, OOC characters, and** ** _voila!_** **This masterpiece. I put all the cheeseburgers in there to make sure you were listening. Okay, chop-chop!**

Try As You Might

HARRY POV

Harry's thoughts were going haywire, the way he saw it. According to his remaining sense of touch, his body was following suit.

Harry's hands were moving on account of themselves, as if finding Jackson-related books in the library was the easiest thing in the world to do, as easy as counting or thinking mad thoughts about Professor Jackson in especially inappropriate times such as this. His external self looked just as busy as the weary Hermione next to him, or even her boyfriend Ron in the corner.

Harry had been keeping his well-disguised charade in his sleeve and was continuously pulling it out for days, hours at a time; gratefully, no one had noticed yet. But, even if they had, Harry wouldn't have minded – he was somewhere else. For the casual observer, you might see the normal Harry Potter (scar on his head, round glasses covering dulled emerald eyes, angsty yet kind demeanor, the technical hero-wizard of Hogwarts package) – but for those who had seen him plentiful in times such as this one, they would know what he was thinking (too bad, as well, because they were far too busy rummaging through the library to take much notice).

Seeping into one of his professors' mind with the help of a troublemaking poltergeist, with only a redheaded wizard and a frizzy-haired witch for back up was plenty dizzying enough. Following that same poltergeist into a bloody Hell-like world where the air was toxic and the ground was pulsing with the blood of some gigantic monster was a whole new level of _weird_.

Everything had been, say, _weird_ since Jackson came along. The way the American professor was so secretive about his past. The way Jackson had been enveloped inside that deadly mist of ash and black while fighting with that bronze sword of his, slashing through creatively cursing bat grannies, and the way he was when that blonde woman he apparently cared so much about whisked away into nothing but a memory.

In frustration, Harry ruffled his unkempt hair even further. He was in his last year, with the NEWTs coming along soon. Harry could afford being a little out of order (some might disagree, but he chose to ignore that some as they weren't talking). An angry look etched his face.

And he, the Master of Death himself in comparison to the American Jackson, would fight an accursed man without a nose with a magical stick, only to find that to kill him he had to kill a ring, a locket, a diary, and so many other cursed and (not to mention) _inanimate_ objects. All while people like Jackson got to wield glowing swords, witness the one he cared for most disappear into ash all at the same time while fighting in Hell, where you know only more monsters would come back to face you as you cut the next granny down. Much harder events, and here they were – student and teacher respectively.

Who was better? A simple question rang in his mind, forming into a solid block of thought that simply would _not_ move 'till it was answered. Harry's lip quivered.

 _That Jackson was something to be worried about, that's for sure, and may be better than I am,_ Harry thought. _But we are different_. He smiled. Back to his state of mind – Jackson. No worrying. Not anymore.

Harry rummaged in his pockets, digging out one of the photos of the blonde lady and Jackson that he had "borrowed" from the professor's room. The two were smiling, both with necklaces of beads with symbols that were too fuzzy in the camera for Harry's eyes to make out. He was pretty sure that the lady's hair tied back into the bun, and the way her grey eyes sparkled with satisfaction and ages-old wisdom, and also the way Jackson was holding her, that they were dating. How many years, months, Harry wasn't sure, but he was certain that they had been in far too many close calls and certain situations to be called "just friends".

Tired by all his thinking, Harry put more focus into his surroundings – and his task at the moment. Hermione was opposite him, on the other side of the racks, dutifully flipping through far more books than his arms had thought to move. Ron was sitting on a rogue chair, clearly waxed out by spending on so much of his free time following Hermione and Harry around to the libraries. Harry could relate. Nevertheless, Ron held a faded tome in his freckled hands.

After a long, awkward and tense pause, Harry decided to break the silence by getting Hermione to rant – which, given the time of day, future subject of matter, sufficient audience and a presumably stormy mind, should have been long overdue.

"Hermione," Harry sighed as his arms rummaged in the bookshelf. His search rewarded him with _Magyck Throo the Ages._ Aside from being horribly punctually incorrect, it contained nothing about The Olympian Council or wizard legionnares as Ron had shared with them. "Something isn't right about Prof. Jackson." The witch beside him turned to face him, eyes as widened as they could go.

Hermione shook her head. She'd been particularly uninterested and distant lately, although her posture was rigid as an enchanted stick and her caramel curls were tightly bound in a neat ponytail instead of the Ron-supported pigtails she had been more accustomed to wearing. "You think?" Ron whipped his head around at Hermione's raspy voice. Obviously, she hadn't talked a lot – not even to herself, since late.

Hermione dropped another drab dusty tome, an angry expression etched all over her tired face. Harry braced himself for the rants, and, judging by the lined and scrunched-up face of Ron, he was too.

" _Of course_ there's something wrong about him! He had this gleaming bronze pen-sword, slashed through all of the bat grannies, and communicated in Hell with a whoever-she-is, assumingly named Hera! Honestly, not once in this year have I seen him use a wand properly in this school, and he gets to give us Muggle weapons! I don't even know where his wand is! Withering inside that bronze sword? Cracking underneath the pressure of the unread teaching books on his bed? _Rotting in a burst, Merlin-forsaken toilet?!_ "

Harry's eyes smarted. Only now he could see Hermione's real side – maybe he wasn't the only one with a charade up his sleeve. He took another moment to reassess the weary witch; her shirt was sloppily put on, not to mention devastatingly wrinkled, and her skirt seemed to stay stagnant in the hot breeze of the library (enchanted, maybe? He couldn't tell by whom). Her hair, although bound, snaked its way from the Gryffindor hair band she rocked and ended up unkempt at the bottom of her neck. The rest of the bound curls were clearly not brushed this morning.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. This rant was obviously going to take a while. Harry won the staring contest, but nonetheless they exchanged a row in silence while Hermione rambled in anger. Ron shot a look like, _You started it! Now finish it!_ but instead Harry said between their eyes, _I took the responsibility of the last one. You stop this one and I owe you a _(insert name of item Ron thinks Harry was gesturing towards)._ Ron wearily nodded, his face still bracing for the wall of the storm that should be next.

"NONE of his excuses make sense! The legionnaire Dark Mark, the strange noises like a seven-year-old child in the Bathrooms, the Egyptian girl, the blonde lady, that severely outdated Hell…I need to figure it out! The rumblings in the woods! Hagrid's recent obsession with crates and bronze dragons! These outdated copies of well-known books! _All of it doesn't make sense!"_

Hermione's eyes, however cold and calculating Harry had presumed in the past, started to gain a confused – almost _mad_ , even – sheen. Harry backed away as Hermione run a dusty hand through her caramel curls, giggling like she had lost her mind. "Hermione—"

"How he talks like he isn't from this…world…" Hermione suddenly slowed down. Ron smirked – maybe he didn't have to calm Hermione down after all, but then his smile wavered for a moment. Harry guessed Ron wouldn't get that Butterbeer now.

The smart witch snapped her fingers, as if to say in sign-language: _EUREKA!_ "That's it! The very solution!"

Harry winced. This _definitely_ won't end well. He was positive Hermione was going bonkers. "What's the solution, Hermione?"

Hermione clutched her head in her hands, while Ron stood up weakly. He dropped the book that he was apparently reading – what Harry had presumed an old tome was a simple Norse picture-book for children. Hermione's voice was barely audible through the layers of indistinct albeit muted chatter inside the library. "He's from another world," she whispered, almost to reassure herself that she was there.

"Hermione," Ron said, his voice firmer and stronger than Harry had ever seen. They both turned to face the ranting witch. "You aren't going bonkers, are you?"

* * *

HERMIONE POV

Whatever the boys said, Hermione was positive she had figured it out. There was no alternative answer – even though she may have skipped her usual smart routine, and maybe missed a few hair-brushing minutes due to the many hours in the library, that didn't necessarily mean she was… _bonkers. Problem-riddled. Losing her touch to the world._ Her mind grasped outwards, as if reaching for the right word to describe her new self. Then, through a blast of light in her mind, she knew with all her stubborn heart, what the word was, however problematic it may have been.

 _She was mad_.

"Hogwarts teh' Hermione? Hallooo?" Hermione's gathered information dropped out of her head like it _Wingardium Leviosa_ ed out of her mind. The world of information and thought she had grown accustomed to in her several book-finding hours simply faded into a very embarrassed oblivion. A sense of time overwhelmed her legs, which wobbled. Her mind was still in shock.

Hermione had been blank, inside that black void for fifteen minutes. A quarter of the lesson. What seemed like a few seconds of thought was a few long minutes of reality. Her eyes went blank, as if the world was still an illusion. She didn't try to blink.

"'Ermione?" Hagrid was two rows in front of her, snapping his giant fingers near her face, ripping Hermione out of her realization quite rudely. She blinked, and the rest of the wizards in the Care of Magical Creatures class (who had just magically appeared) snickered. "Here," Hermione winced.

 **(A/N: Okay, fine, I can't help but feel peeved with Hagrid's different perspective of dialogue in here. Anyone else? No? Ugh. Fine. I'll just have to put this in here then.)**

Hermione practically sank into the cool grass. She missed basically a quarter of the lesson.

"T'day will be continuin' 'ter lesson on dragons, for those who didn't _listen,_ " said Hagrid enthusiastically while at the same time concernedly looking at Hermione. He had a broken bit of bronze in his gigantically frizzy hair, as well as some other bits and bobs that were so twisted not even Merlin would know what to call them. Maybe he could join Hermione's new club – Hair Brushing Routine Displacement and Disawarement (was that even a word?).

Hermione summed Hagrid up as a messy half-giant…a lovable and messy half-giant, she reminded herself. Hermione decided to focus her attention on more worthwhile things (not that Hagrid wasn't worthwhile. It's just that she had seen Hagrid for thousands of times. She didn't need to focus any more time by examining him.)

So, Hermione looked at what she guessed was the main focus of the lesson for now.

There were three crates in front of them, with almost identical objects in them from last week (at least, she thought so); the first contained some glassy bronze filaments mixed with mud and leaves, obviously fresh from the forest. The second had Omnioculars, quite similar to the first crate and from earlier last week. Mostly netting and saucy-smelling liquid in vials filled the last crate.

 _Hagrid really has had a thing for crates lately,_ Hermione noted.

Most of the other wizards groaned. Like they even _understood_ the concept of this lesson.

A shaky hand rose from the back of the crowd, nearest to Hagrid's little hut (and unfortunately, the closest to Hagrid's assortment of newly found pets). The half-giant gestured to the hand with almost equal nervousness.

"Um, sir…are we going to visit the Forest and look for dragon doo again?" This query was followed by a million more snickers. Hermione whacked Harry with her elbow, who was beside her and giggling like a little girl who was about to open her Christmas presents. She shot a scowl at Ron, a few messy rows behind for good measure. Honestly – men.

Finally, after Hermione thought an aeon had passed, Hagrid spoke up. "Yea'." Horrid groans, almost immediately replacing the snickers, filled the air.

"Well," Hermione whispered to herself. "This will be interesting, I hope."

* * *

The Forest could only be described with two sentences: a) horribly terrifying and paralyzing when alone and dark, and b) ever filled with teachable (however horrible) moments and mysteries that make you want to crack your head.

The sky glittered black as night under the shadows of the almost unfriendly mutated pine trees, as if the day wasn't good enough for the mutated faces. Hermione could have sworn she saw a scrawny shadow figure in the near distance, shaking its shadow head with what clearly should be utter defiance and denial. That particular sight made Hermione shuffle a bit closer to the rest of the boys. A spiky pine cone almost reached out and impaled her on the back. Hermione almost swore softly under her breath – even the pine cones were mutated in this place.

Her bronze Omnioculars were heavy in her hand, as well as the netting and bronze bait in the other. She kept raising it to her vision only to almost leap out of her mortal shell when everything snapped into focus, replaying the horrifying and greatly troubling shadowy figures near the edge of the bough-lined horizon.

She was paired with Ron and Harry, on a mini-teachable-quest-hunt for a thrashing bronze dragon and had to use vials of what Hagrid called "Tabasco Barbeque" sauce and bronze shards as bait, and use the gold filament netting to capture this bronze dragon that apparently disturbed Hagrid's peaceful sleep.

Easy peasy.

Hermione had seen this forest a million times, and had gone on dangerous missions almost twice that much. A bronze dragon wouldn't bother her as much – comparing that to the tiny shell of Voldemort's baby-like form and a mechanical dragon…this should have been a breeze.

Guess what. It wasn't.

"The days just seem to get longer and longer," Harry noted, breaking the eerie silence of faux night. "Actually," Hermione corrected, "I think the days seem to get shorter and shorter as we figure out the big puzzle."

Ron frowned, his eyebrows raised with mouth slightly agape. Hermione loved when he did that, especially if it was of her doing. "What puzzle, mate?" His ginger hair glittered darkly as he dodged a troublemaking thorny branch.

Harry facepalmed. "Code Jackson." Ron emitted a slight ' _ohh…'_ and shut his mouth. Good boy.

They went on in silence, constantly waving the glassy shards in the heavy dewed air in diminishing hopes to catch the dragon before the beginning of their free period. The vials were only to be used when the bronze dragon was in sight.

"Ouch!" Harry said, turning the rest of the crew's heads toward the thick thorny branch that had smacked him from the back. Ron picked a thorn out of Harry's back almost immediately, which in turn sprayed the redhead's collar with foul-smelling purple liquid. Now it was Ron's turn to panic.

Hermione's lip quivered. This wasn't supposed to be happening. In all previous adventures she'd had with Harry and Ron, the Forest almost became comforting. Almost like the field outside home. Then she realized this wasn't only the Forest. This was somewhere in its core, with ground never before seen or tread by wizardkind. They must have walked so mutely they travelled a great lot of distance without notice, trees blurring in their memory to look the same, where the sky was almost as black as void.

Before Hermione could stop, something glinted in her peripheral vision. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted a shadowy figure, ridiculously large lying on the ground half-hidden by a tree almost in equal size, only more aggressive than all the other trees she had seen. Wow. That was a silly remark. She must have really been going mad, then.

Before long, Hermione got the whole gang to run towards the aggressive tree, albeit slower than normal – too many smaller trees, thorny vines, overgrown ground lichen and every other sort of hostile vegetation blocked their way. Harry blasted the green obstacles with blue wand-fire – what sort, exactly, Hermione couldn't remember. She must have memorized and replayed so many spells and hexes in her head, that her wand would basically shoot out anything that the clever witch wanted before she had formed the Latin to her lips.

The aggressive tree was aggressive, enough said. Shadows danced in between the thickest branches, spindling darkness and foreboding into an aura so thick and unwelcoming gooseflesh appeared on her arm, and without even looking she knew that the same had happened to Ron and Harry as well. The bark of the trunk was so twisted and gnarled and so very, very _old_ and so…so simply _frightening._ A small, unhappy clearing with tiny clumps of grass and an even smaller amount of natural adornment surrounded it…but what lay in the shadows was what caught her eye, no matter how mad its vision may have been perceived.

As they approached closer with twigs moved out of the way and leaves crunching under the weight of their trekking boots, the threesome picked up some sort of sound. Once there were no more twigs to clear and only a circle of trees surrounding the sad clearing, they ducked behind branches and concentrated on the voices behind their hiding spots. They were muffled due to the distance, but Hermione definitely could figure out what the voices – two, she estimated – were saying.

Only one thing went on in Hermione's mind as she heard the voices go on: what on earth was happening?

* * *

Yeah. So, there it is. I'm sorry, please forgive me, and all of that useless crap that you'll slam in the toilet. I deserve it. Oh, and did I mention the eleven-year-old-me has better writing? No, I did not. I was too busy apologizing. Now, I must repent for my sins by wallowing in a corner and nursing my crushed soul.

Bye for now,

Shashaspeaks


	9. EXTREMELY IMPORTANT AN

**_EVERYONE._**

I know, it's probably breaking a rule somewhere, but rules bedamned. This is an author's note, but still, **_this is not a drill._**

Malaysian government has had FFnet _banned._ I am Malaysian, live in Malaysia, and am not going out of Malaysia anytime soon. Guess what that means for me and all of my fics and all of the fics made by really talented Malaysian authors and all of the Malaysian readers on this site.

We won't be able to write, read, and give feedback to anything on this site anymore.

I want to complete this story. I'm not lying. I've had the urge to rewrite this for a while now, and trust me it's _coming_ and it's _in the works_ and it's tough but I'm _getting there_ , but I can't be expected to do anything if my country BLOCKS THE WEBSITE.

So, yeah. I'm actually pretty pissed right now.

I've got the link for the petition to urge MCMC to unblock from Malaysia. I'm safe for now, because I'm still logged in to the system via the app, but who knows how long that's gonna last.

https/www(dot)thepetitionsite(dot)com/488/894/846/please-urge-the-malaysian-government-mcmc-to-unblock-fanfiction(dot)net-in-malaysia/

Y'all know the drill, remove the (dot)s and replace them with a real dots like the one at the end of this sentence.

Please, please contribute. This site taught me how to human more than actual IRL humans did — a little pathetic, yeah, but it doesn't erase the fact that I wouldn't have become the person I am now without this site and all of the wonderful people and communities that exist here.

Every one of us Malaysian FFnet users — we're all counting on you.

Thanks, for all you've done.

Signing out, maybe for good, _shashaspeaks_.

[ _P.S. If for some reason the petition doesn't succeed — search up my handle. I'll be sure to float around somewhere. Like, ao3, or something. I'm pretty sure I'll be going to Miku Expo this year too, so uh, if you see the, like, 5' tall kid with the hijab and the glasses running around with her nose stuck in either a book or in a Leorio-eat-phone moment, there's a high chance that's me.]_


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